


A Brief Respite

by wanderingflame



Category: Trigun
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingflame/pseuds/wanderingflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Keywords from prompt: cross and reluctant</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Brief Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Keywords from prompt: cross and reluctant

Vash stumbles back into the Cross Punisher from Wolfwood's shove, wincing as his back connects with the unforgiving metal.

"Ow, ow, ow," he hisses, but there's no real pain in his voice. His expression is close to being a pout. "Could you go easy on me? I'm still all beat up."

Wolfwood closes the distance between them, hands clenching fistfuls of that red coat, and then he kisses Vash, taking those soft lips with hard, demanding desperation. It feels like there's a band around his chest that's slowly been tightening since that afternoon when he saw Vash disappear into the sand. It feels like if he doesn't do something, _anything_ , he'll burst. Vash responds to the kiss but when they pause, panting, he seems bemused.

"Shouldn't we wait?" he asks, tone still light. "I'm sure there'll be a bed in the next town. It'll probably be more comfortable..."

Vash has never denied him, never refused his advances, but he seems almost reluctant now. Wolfwood senses it, knows that damned smile and casual attitude is just a mask. Vash's black-gloved hands hover near his waist, not pulling Wolfwood closer or peeling away his dusty suit, and Wolfwood wonders if he's hurt worse than he let on. The thought incenses him but when he tries to take a calming breath, the constricting feeling cuts it short.

"You stupid..." He stops, tries again. "You almost..." But that's somehow worse and he bites back the rest, hands tightening in the red fabric. For a moment, there is silence. Wolfwood stares at the pulse beating in Vash's neck before finally raising his eyes to meet Vash's. The half-smile is gone, replaced by a look that is both understanding and a little sad.

After another second or two of silence, Vash's hands come up to cup Wolfwood's face and draw him close for another kiss. It starts out slow, almost soothing, but Wolfwood grows impatient and presses Vash back against cool metal, his hands once again resuming their task of undoing countless buckles. This time, however, Vash helps him. When Wolfwood's fingers fumble, Vash is there to take over.

They don't bother undressing completely and they don't move to the ground. Vash is right; a bed would be far more comfortable than the gritty sand at their feet but Wolfwood can't wait. The need drives him, makes him rush through preparing Vash, though he pants apologies against the man's neck as he thrusts his spit-slick fingers in and out. Vash says nothing, only turns his face toward Wolfwood's--lips seeking lips--and eventually he is moaning and rocking his hips. When Wolfwood withdraws his fingers, Vash wastes no time in hitching first one leg, then the other up around Wolfwood's hips, trusting the priest to get a hand under his ass to hold him up.

Trusting, always so trusting. Wolfwood stifles a growl as he shifts Vash's weight, bracing him against the metal cross as he slowly pushes in. His fingers grip hard enough to bruise pale skin, and Vash clutches his shoulders, his head down as he tries to breath and adjust to the sensation. It isn't until Wolfwood is as deep as he can be, his hips pressed flush to Vash's ass, that he finally feels the band around his chest begin to loosen. Vash is trembling, his breath hot against Wolfwood's throat, but he groans when Wolfwood begins to move.

It's fast and rough, no finesse or drawing out of their pleasure. Vash doesn't complain, he simply murmurs encouragement between gasps and whimpers. Wolfwood wonders faintly if the edges of the Cross Punisher are digging into Vash's back but he's distracted when the next thrust nearly sends him over the edge. He's close--much sooner than he expected--so he slips a hand between them to close around Vash's cock. The other man cries out, head snapping back against the metal, and then he's moaning more loudly, his hips struggling to find the friction they need without disrupting Wolfwood's rhythm.

Before long, he's gasping Wolfwood's name and shuddering as he finds release. Wolfwood gratefully gives in to his own need, holding Vash's hips steady as he desperately strives for his own finish. Finally, he feels the wave crest within him and he comes with a low groan, feeling more than just his seed drain from him. As his breathing slows, he feels the tension is gone, the tightness in his chest replaced by the more familiar weight of exhaustion. He slumps against Vash, knowing it can't be very comfortable but unable--or unwilling--to move just yet. Again, Vash says nothing, only slips his arms around Wolfwood, and together they enjoy this moment of peace.


End file.
